There is something about this mood that leaves me very vulnerable to physical beauty. Certain colors shock, delight. Especially outside, where the sky is so flat, and then a rust colored thorn bush interrupts. Or the verdure of an ice plant beneath the black stream of night, ("like green, clean brains"), shivs me, makes me sad and glad. Hands and hair, usually nice anyhow, are almost too pretty not to touch.
I am at many moments throughout the days on the verge of shedding a few grateful tears for a peripheral loveliness that means everything to me, but doesn't notice me at all. This all sounds silly I guess, but I am just very glad for this relief-reflex my brain offers me.
When I wander around with Dylan, I want to capture every beautiful moment, but that kid is a goddamn hummingbird. I can never catch her!
When I do catch her, miracle as it is, it is either a beautiful photo of her in a childish, pensive trance, a mid-laugh, but more than often, a face. Not just any face, but a face. The ones her father makes when you tell him to smile or even "look" at the camera. Oh, why am I trying to explain it when I can just show you?
It's funny how certain traits are so easily transferred to offspring. Traits that aren't usually proven to be genetically passed on. Dylan is just like her father. Every silly, goofy and geeky habit has been transmitted into this little girl and is being put to great use.
Oh, I did finally get a still shot of her. Albeit, not a very good one: